Jelly
by piratesmiley
Summary: AU. "When Peter took hold of the dream, they were always at the beach." P/O.


A/N: This exists in a highly improbably and totally ridiculous AU. Please ignore my silliness.

* * *

John's jaw twitched more and more as the procedure continued, but nobody but Walter noticed.

He stood outside the glass, watching tensely, hands clenched in pockets. This was more than a little strange for him, watching his girlfriend get in bed with his best friend. Walter fussed around them, though, like it was natural, injecting drugs and affixing wires and adjusting sheets.

When he was finished, he spoke, voice low and calm. "Now, think back. You remember what this feels like. Do what you did when you were children together."

They didn't make a sound. Somewhere in between the drugs and the wires they had been caught in a polarized stare, eyes attracted to opposite eyes. They were on either side of the bed, when simultaneously they mounted and crawled like children to the wrong side, so the nest of wires laid over them like a holey blanket.

Walter appeared beside John. "They always used to do that to annoy the lab assistants. Such a mischievous pair. They never stayed still."

"They still don't," John added tightly.

Walter chuckled a little. "True."

They faced each other, still staring, until something took hold and breathing slowed, and the beeps of the machines tried and failed to follow them down the rabbit hole.

* * *

When Peter took hold of the dream, they were always at the beach; Olivia, the forest.

It was Peter's turn.

After a while they washed up on shore but made no move to get up. It was softer if they didn't fight the waves, just waiting to hit land. Peter groaned a little. He didn't want to get up, but he had to, he had to, because Daddy needed him to. But it wouldn't be difficult, because if he really couldn't he knew Olivia would. That's how they worked. He would help her up, or she would help him up, always silent, always there.

Peter could get up on his own this time, though, so he stood and scanned the ocean, waiting for her.

After a while he heard a cough behind him, the little clearing of her throat she let out when she was getting antsy. Unsurprising, she had been ready to go for a while now. She was slicked, dark, and sand-coated, eyes wide and waiting. She offered her hand, and he took it and led them along the coast, waiting to hit the right spot again.

"What do we look for?" And it sounded like her voice, and it didn't. But it didn't matter, because he knew she asked.

"The spot."

She nodded as though that made sense.

And a few minutes or moments or hours later, he stopped, turned exactly ninety degrees, and saw. Jungle to the back of him, all he could see was blue, space meeting sea, and the sun, which aligned perfectly with the ripple in the fabric of his memory – the little tear in the sky.

She was behind him too, and she came a bit closer to rest her chin on his right shoulder. Like she used to.

(_And he knew why she did it, too – because it made him feel like big, like protection to her, but-_)

It was confusing, now, looking into the tear, seeing the boy and being the boy but now also being a man, standing with a woman who was the girl that he was with when he was the boy.

_(God, they used to be golden, but-)_

Lots of confusion, yes.

_(He had been such a sweet boy, but-)_

If he remembered how to do this – if _they_ remembered – would things go back to the way they were when they were children? He leaned more against her for a moment. He would like that.

"We'll figure something out," she hummed.

They felt like old souls for a moment. And then the sky grew dark and the stars came out, and they plopped down in the sand to watch their instructions be given by the constellations.

* * *

And when they woke up, they knew what to do.

* * *

And when they woke up, John almost had a fit.

They had moved closer in sleep, unconsciously, his head above hers, hers nestled into his chest, fingers lightly intertwined – almost imperceptibly.

"They've always been like that," Walter said, but it wasn't an explanation, wasn't kind. He seemed almost angry with the man, as if he was infringing on unforeseen plans. "They're just being children again."

John was too busy looking confusedly at Walter to notice Peter place a kiss on Olivia's forehead, words ringing in both sets of ears.

_We'll figure something out._


End file.
